


anele

by sentinelno11



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: General Bittersweet Stuff, Hedwyn Gets To Pine More!, Other, The Reader Uses Neopronouns Because Kye Can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentinelno11/pseuds/sentinelno11
Summary: from Latin promissum 'something promised', neuter past participle of promittere 'put forth, promise', from pro- 'forward' + mittere 'send'.in other words, a bond forcibly mended and broken by ceremony.(hedwyn/reader bittersweet oneshot.)
Relationships: Hedwyn/The Reader (Pyre)
Kudos: 8





	anele

**Author's Note:**

> i posted more than one thing in a year? WHOOOOAAAAAAHHHHHH
> 
> figured it was time i posted something actually related to my pseud, also i have no memory of actually writing this. i blacked out and when i came to it was just there

He sees the Reader swirling around the bottle of moonshine that Pamitha had left behind when she was liberated. The snake’s face inside stares at Hedwyn treacherously while he waits anxiously for kye to put the bottle down and take up the vial of river water instead, which kye had used to douse the face of the anointed since the beginning. Many Liberation Rites ago, kye pointed down to an undecipherable scrawl on a page in the book. According to kyne, to anoint a person meant to massage out their sorrows in oil, the slick liquid meant to settle on their skin as protection. Unfortunately, kye had continued, kye could not stand the feel of oil on kyr fingers and would settle for the water dripping down the anointed’s face like the blessing of life instead.

Hedwyn never cooks a full dinner prior to a Rite. The Reader (correctly) had said that a slightly empty stomach makes for a sharper mind and quicker feet. On this night of the final Liberation Rite his hands have nothing to do and so he busies himself with straightening out the wrinkles in the raiments for the 500th time, occasionally looking out the window of the blackwagon to watch the Moon-Touched Girl and Sir Gilman barter with Falcon Ron for just a _slightly_ cheaper heap of stardust. The talismans… as far as Hedwyn can see, the stars are practically shining out of them, primed for usage…

“It almost seems a waste of Sol, my friend,” he speaks up. “I think that the talismans are as good as they’re going to be.”

“I will be taking no chances. We cannot afford to lose tonight.”

The question burns in Hedwyn’s mind with the severity that the Reader’s brand is burned into kyr forehead. As the other peruses the various shelves of the blackwagon, Hedwyn decides to test the waters.

“You look hungry. I’ll make us a good dinner after this Rite to celebrate our chosen friend’s safe return home.”

The Reader’s waters crash upon him like the Deathless Tempest. Kye is silent, kyr eyes darting occasionally from one object to another. Kyr gaze reminds him briefly of Fikani -- how Hedwyn’s mind is confused by thoughts of her, the Harp that he deserted everything for only to receive a life without her in exchange. His hands curl. He half expects to feel soft feathers in their calloused fingertips.

His companion is far too resentful to be Fikani. The Reader’s eyes are alight with a lingering sense of divine hatred -- the stoked embers are, Hedwyn thinks, what eventually allowed Volfred to become close with the Reader, and share secret things in kyr head. Where sorrow and hope shined in Fikani’s gaze determination and an unerring sense of--

Doubt? The flicker of it catches Hedwyn off guard and sends his Adam’s apple to the top of his throat like the Shimmerpool. The Reader has never felt _doubt._ Kye has never made a decision for the Rites without complete, single-minded confidence in kyr own ideas. Volfred had warned the group earlier on that those ideas washed red with destruction. Tariq, the blessed lone minstrel, had gently counterpointed that confidence is often enough to overpower the weak-willed. Jodariel, by that time on the Reader’s side, had praised kyr dedication. As the Reader’s shoulders sag ever so slightly Hedwyn feels the blood drain from his face as though it’s spilling onto the floor to spell his doom. He realizes — far too late — how much he depends on that stone-faced smirk, guiding the Nightwings through the heavens into the adversary’s pyres.

It blooms in his chest. This same lovely concern that presented itself for Fikani has simmered lightly as a nourishing soup in Hedwyn’s heart to fill the hole that her absence leaves. For the first time Hedwyn notices how frail kyr body truly is, kyr bony hand reaching to replace the moonshine on the lower shelf.

“You are scrutinizing my form. Does something displease you, then?” Hedwyn watches kyne limp toward him with a twisting cane matching kyr lame leg. Kyr questions, oft filled with suspicion (though Hedwyn had noticed with some pride that kye had calmed around him), are devoid of any energy despite their accusations. “Do you have difficulty trusting my guidance now? I could not blame thee.”

“Not at all, my friend.” Hedwyn puts on one of his best smiles for kyne. He doesn’t know why his heart feels as though it’s shattering.

“Good… the moon rises upon us. We must be gathering all of the people and selecting our triumvirate for the night.” The Reader’s jilted dialogue blankets Hedwyn in comfort. He allows himself to lapse fully into the false sense of security in an effort to stay sane with the inevitable approaching.

Hedwyn steps out of the blackwagon onto dark stone. In the rafters of stained glass he sees Tariq tenderly begging Celeste’s attention with his fingertips. Below the peak rests the Emperor’s Fall, where three Liberation Rites ago Hedwyn did much the same thing to the Reader. Kye had responded positively, then. In all public regards (and much of what the Nightwings had been doing was public -- privacy is a rare luxury among their friends) the Reader had shown him no favoritism. In passing kye had murmured things in his ear on occasion.

One night, in a shared bunk, the Reader had allowed him to stroke the brand welded to kyr forehead, and had kissed his heart in return for the delicate action.

As the constellations hang darkly over the mountain peak Hedwyn resists the urge to cry out. There’s no point in trying to convince the Reader to make a new decision. After a long moment of shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes he chances a look back through the blackwagon window into the cabin to see his beloved. Behind the horrid curtain of finally-obtained privacy Hedwyn sees kyr face wearing guilt and the stress of all the Rites bearing anchors on kyr shoulders.

His promise rings back in his ears. The Reader had assisted him greatly with said promise; Rukey and Jodariel had been the first two to be liberated. As time had passed and Liberation Rites had been won and lost, Hedwyn had found himself growing comfortable with the Downside because kye had been there with him. Though he is loathe to admit it, Hedwyn the Deserter had too willingly donned the title worthy of his sentence, and had been once again willing to throw away a promise for the sake of a growing love.

The Reader is forcing him to reunite the trio. He can see it in kyr expression through the window. Kye is planning to send him into a world without kyne, and a world where he can only say that the extent of his promises are forcibly kept by other peoples’ means.

He does not look to see if kye cries. The shade on kyr face alone is all he needs to know of how kye has shattered the bedrock of kyr own heart’s foundations. The last he seems before turning from the window is a glimpse of kyne picking up the vial of river water and very lightly kissing the cork.

When Hedwyn gathers the rest of the Nightwings he barely registers their chattering, their anxiety. The only thing that knocks him to reality during the preparation is the Moon-Touched Girl getting tangled in the fabric of her raiments and nearly bumping Hedwyn off his feet. His thoughts crowd his head with sorrow. The Reader will never let him fall to someone like Oralech, and he trusts kyne too implicitly to throw the match himself. As kyr voice cuts through the haze he finds himself finally able to read the gazes of his fellow Nightwings, and he studies them closely, for the last time.

Bertrude. Her gaze is critical. She cares nothing of going to the surface, and she knows that the Reader will not make her.

Volfred. He looks just slightly hopeful, but nothing daring to suggest to himself that the Reader would pick him.

Sir Gilman. He is eager to serve. His shiny expression betrays no belief to one side or another -- his eye is filled only with trust in the Reader’s decisions.

The Moon-Touched Girl. She is lost in thought as she murmurs prayers to the Scribes. Hedwyn thinks he can make out a “please do not send me back.”

Everyone already knows he’s anointed. Volfred seems pleased in a respectful way. His head bows to join the Reader in mourning for the sacrifice about to be made.

Tariq and Celeste’s requests sound off at some endless point in time. The Reader’s head tilts in such a way to alert everyone that someone else is speaking to kyne, too. Hedwyn tries to memorize the tilt to replicate it later in his dreams. After just a moment’s hesitation the Reader exhales and goes about kyr usual ritual. Kye removes the vial of river water from the folds of kyr clothing and balances kyr cane carefully enough to pop the cork while still standing. As the True Nightwings hum a solemn drone on the other side of the field, the Reader drops the cork on the ground and slowly walks to Hedwyn, kyr gait making a _scuff---click-scuff_ against the jagged rock floor. The air escapes his lungs in a sudden puff. The waiting had allowed him to hold out hope for too long. Kye stops directly in front of him, closer than kye ever gets unless sharing a bunk with him. The other Nightwings (bar the curious Sir Gilman) are kind enough to look away.

“Mine love,” kye says, nearly too quietly for him to hear. “Go bravely and softly into the water’s embrace.”

Hedwyn can’t stop his eyes from watering. When the Reader affixes him with kyr once again confident gaze, his tears comingle with the water of anointment streaming down his face. The Reader’s face is nearly close enough to his to touch the cold metal of kyr brand to his forehead. His lips lightly chase the Reader as kye steps back to face Tariq and Celeste with a desperate, rock-hard face.

“We select Hedwyn as our anointed.”

Kye turns away from him quickly to select the teammates that will support his victory. Sir Gilman jumps for joy when he is selected. Hedwyn doesn’t turn to see who the second one is as he takes up his mask, feeling it over in his hands, the eyeholes gazing back at him sadly. As he puts it on the Reader stares straight at him and nods.

  
He will bear the mask. He nods back, making a silent promise to smile endlessly for the cursed gift kye’s given him. He keeps his conversational gaze on the Reader, who returns it with the smallest of smiles as a _woosh_ of celestial flame descends from the heavens.


End file.
